


soft epilogue

by mintmuffin



Series: the kids from yesterday [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Bittersweet, Future Fic, Introspection, M/M, Moving On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 20:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14457591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintmuffin/pseuds/mintmuffin
Summary: as he deals with kingship and fatherhood in the years following the unification of valentia, one of the things alm looks forward to the most is receiving letters from kliff about his travels. after some time, they stop coming.





	soft epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> hi so this is the second part of my [kliffalm fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14437776), told in alm's point of view this time. i decided to separate them because i know kid ocs aren't everyone's jam but tbh this is mostly self-indulgent. so. 
> 
> special shoutout to my friends jay and melo, who made these ocs with me. thank you for inspiring me to write again <3

The letters come once every couple of months. Most of them describe the places Kliff had been to, comparing them to similar areas in Valentia Alm was familiar with. Some of them include people Kliff had met in his travels, stories of strangers, and happenings in foreign towns. Alm takes pleasure in reading them over and over again in his spare time, imagining Kliff weaving through bustling crowds, wooing them with his magic, exploring ancient cities, climbing mountains. He shows the letters to Tobin and Gray and Faye, too, whenever they were free of their knightly duties, and they’d laugh and chat over a round of beer.

Alm is twenty-three when Xiomara is born. He can’t stop himself from penning a hypothetical letter to Kliff to gush about his daughter – it had by far been the happiest day in his and Celica’s lives. _She’s adorable,_ he writes, _with bright green eyes and hair the color of the moon_. Unable to actually send it, he keeps it in a drawer with Kliff’s book and other letters.

Eirene is born next, eyes just like her sister’s and possessing a beauty that he knows would surpass even her mother’s when she grows up. It’s a few months after Berkut, his youngest, is born that Alm gets a letter from Kliff talking about a child of his own. His heart warms at the thought of Kliff being a father – he’d be a great one, and he’s sure his child would grow up to be just as smart and talented and strong-spirited. Maybe they’d even inherit his snark too, Alm muses.  

Afterwards, the intervals between letters become longer and longer. Months turn to years. Alm doesn’t mind, at first. Fatherhood is no easy feat, and Alm of all people would understand that. Kliff would be spending most of his time and energy raising his child. Besides, letters from wherever Kliff was would take who knows how long to arrive. Delays in delivery can happen. It’s fine.

Ten years pass without a letter from Kliff. Alm’s daughters were growing up to be strong, formidable young women. Berkut was still trying to find his footing, but Alm doesn’t doubt that he’ll be able to grow into his role as prince, a leader just as fine as his older sisters. Alm wishes he could write to Kliff, to ramble about how proud he is of his children.

Fifteen years. Everyday, Alm asks the royal messenger if they happened to possess a letter from a certain someone among the plethora of missives addressed to him, and every time they shake their head, his heart sinks.

Eventually, he stops asking. He tries to perish his fears, but they creep and gnaw at him, night after night.

* * *

One day, Alm receives word of a foreign young man requesting an audience with him and the queen. He doesn’t think much of it; usually, they were nobles or suitors seeking to court one of his children. They were turned down, more often than not.

What he doesn’t expect is a familiar pair of rose-colored eyes staring back at him as their owner kneels before the throne.

Alm barely registers what was happening. Celica has to nudge him to respond. “His name is Theo,” she whispers. “A travelling mage who decided to finally settle here. He’s come to swear fealty to the crown.”

 _He looks so much like him_. Alm swallows a lump in his throat as he sits up a little taller, straighter. He’s sure Celica sees the resemblance, too. “Right. Well, Theo, we’re more than happy to have you here. If I may, however– why have you come to Valentia, of all places?”

Theo pats down his robes as he stands. “You see, Your Majesty, Valentia was my father’s homeland,” he says. “He passed away some years ago, taken by an incurable illness. I wanted to connect with his roots, to honor his memory by lending the skills and abilities he taught me to the One Kingdom.”

There it is, the never-ending ache of sorrow, reaching its crescendo when he finds his fears finally being realized, collapsing onto him all at once. He doesn’t need to ask Theo for confirmation, and the glint in the young mage’s eyes tells Alm he knew that he didn’t need to bring it up as well. Alm simply clears his throat; throughout the years, he’s gotten better at masking his emotions when needed. His voice does not waver.

“Queen Celica and I would be honored to have you as a member of the One Kingdom’s order. We shall make sure you have a place in our court. Welcome to Valentia, Theo, son of Kliff.”

* * *

That night, Eirene finds her father in his study, slumped over his desk like dead weight. She sees the broken glass on the floor first, then the near-empty bottle of wine. Several pieces of parchment, all with the same neat scrawl, litter the wooden surface of the desk. She calls on her siblings to help their father up, and together they lead him through the hallways and into his bedchambers. It’s the first time they’ve ever seen him so dispirited.

Alm lets his wife hold him as he sobs. She tries to soothe him, stroke his hair, and tells him that the pain will go away in due time. Of all people, Celica would know how the loss of a loved one felt like. No words can describe how grateful he is for her company. 

Celica is his beloved, his one and only. Right now, though, he can’t help himself; the feelings he once had for this small boy from his hometown resurface, flood his senses, and cause him to burst open like a dam.  

He tells his old friends of the news the following day. None of them are surprised, really, but the reality of it weighs heavy in their hearts, and for the first time in years, the air that hangs among them is despondent and somber. Mourning with them, Alm feels like a child again, a lost farmboy still searching for his sense of purpose.

* * *

Celica’s right. She always is. Coping gets easier as the days, weeks go by. It hurts less to look at Theo now, especially when Alm sees how his son appeared to lighten up around him.

His daughters, ever so perceptive, notice it too. Xiomara ruffles Berkut’s hair as she teases him, and Eirene’s questioning is ceaseless. Alm simply laughs, genuine, at Berkut’s cheeks turning as red as his hair when Theo is brought up as a topic during suppertime.

* * *

Alm feels like he interrupted something intimate when he visits the castle library and sees Berkut sneaking Theo a quick kiss in one of the aisles. It’s Theo who catches sight of the king first, and out of respect he puts some distance between himself and the other boy, bowing his head slightly in apology. He doesn’t regret it, though – there’s a sort of mischief in the way the corners of his lips curl upwards, the same kind of playfulness Alm had grown accustomed to a long, long time ago. Berkut flusters, but Alm only chuckles as he walks away and pretends he never saw them.

* * *

“Theo says his father spoke fondly of you.”

Lowering his glasses, Alm looks up from his paperwork to face his son and raises a brow. They’re in his study, and Berkut was assisting him in going through the week’s batch of missives and news reports. Alm is a bit surprised – usually, Berkut would try to steer conversations away from anything Theo-related. But perhaps it was mostly to avoid his sisters’ incessant teasing, Alm figures. It’s just the two of them now, father and son, and Berkut is safe from being teased for the most part.

The thought of Kliff no longer pains him; not as much as it used to, at least. He considers his words. “Well, he _was_ my best friend.”

Berkut sets down the stack of papers he’d been holding. “You were more than that, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Alm responds, quick and true. Then, he stands up and stretches, joints creaking, and walks over to the other side of the room where the drawers were. He huffs when he sees that access was being blocked by one of the family’s cats. Salmon didn’t appreciate being woken up from her nap, but she doesn’t hiss when Alm lifts her and sets her to the ground. She meows, scurrying off to Berkut instead.

He opens the bottom drawer and procures a book, old and dusty, as well as a leather-bound portfolio. A few minutes later, the pile of unopened missives lay forgotten as Alm lays out the letters Kliff had written him over the years across the table.

He goes on to talk about the cleverest boy he’s ever known, a young, talented mage who came from nowhere and proved his worth a hundred times over during the war. He rambles about how mesmerizing it was seeing flames crackle to life in his fingertips, how he always seemed to laugh in the face of death, how he had a heart of gold underneath layers of irritability and snark. When the night drags on and Alm is sleepy and tired of telling stories for the day, he offers Berkut the tome Kliff had given him moments before he left the continent.

“Father, are you sure?” Berkut asks, blinking in mild disbelief. He traces the cover of the book with his index finger carefully, as if afraid it might crumble under his touch with how worn it looked.

Alm smiles. He thinks of how much happier his son had been lately, how fond his expression was earlier, seeing him holding hands with Theo as they walked across the courtyard. “I’m certain Theo would appreciate having something his father owned in his childhood.”

* * *

Ram Village had changed considerably since Alm first set foot out of it. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s been here. The quiet little village he grew up in was unfamiliar now – his old neighbors’ houses were gone, replaced by newer ones. It wasn’t quaint as it used to be, either; it's clear that the small town's population had grown in size. The marketplace was bustling with merchants and customers alike, and more people seemed to be working in the farms, the vineyards.

His old residence – Mycen’s house – has become sort of a heritage site. It was the home of two great figures in Valentian history, after all: a legendary general, and a legendary king. Out of everything, it seemed to be the only structure left untouched by the changing years. After retiring, Mycen had returned to Ram to live out the rest of his years quietly, where he passed away peacefully in his sleep at the tender age of ninety-two.

Alm kneels in front of the blackened portion of the brick walls of his childhood home. He runs his fingers over the scorch marks gingerly, closing his eyes. He tries to recall the very day Kliff’s magic manifested for the first time: he’d almost set Tobin on fire, then. It was a good thing the ball of flame had landed on the wall instead. They were barely ten.

He relays the tale to Berkut and Theo, who’d journeyed with him from the capital. They laugh, and then it’s Theo’s turn to examine the scorched wall for himself.

After he visits the flower field, Alm sets lillies down on the soft earth in front of the wall. He looks back at his son, then at the young man he called his companion, and thinks, wistfully, _this is the happy ending you deserved._

Perhaps the pain from the loss of a loved one – the sense of longing – never really goes away, never disappears completely. The melancholy would always linger. But the earth continues spinning on its axis, and the world goes on regardless. Stories never really end even after Death blows out a candle of life; oftentimes, they’re carried over.

Alm swings up onto his stallion’s back in a smoothed, practiced motion. He glances back at the old brick house, once, before turning to head towards the capital, and finally lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel really strongly about alm being a dad and wanting to raise a family of his own to make up for the fact that he never really experienced having parental figures aside from mycen, and that he didn't have any siblings either. i don't doubt that alm saw his childhood friends as his family, practically, but things are different when they have moms and dads and siblings of their own while he didn't... he's always craved familial affection, and i bet killing his father and cousin made his issues even worse too. :--( 
> 
> anyway, celicalm's kids are, in order: xiomara, eirene, and berkut. (yep! we did that!)  
> btw yes xiomara's hair is silver, like liprica's, just because. i actually have drawings of them (theo, too) but i'm sorta embarrassed to post them lmao. if you're interested you can ask me about them on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaninrice)! (i'm admittedly really attached to them now haha)  
> we have more ocs in the works enough for an fe15 sequel tbh... so stay tuned maybe


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